Dividing the spoils | sacking even this instant city | Strolling through a meadow | under a silk parasol | a little tipsy from the wine and her glances | the giant, Thought, was throwing out | all these tiny people | with their tiny | wars, tiny amours | like confetti from a pocket | the paper petals | lodged there | for months | carried into this moment | from a last year’s wedding

Arriving at a new love as at a new city | Consummating our relationship | like Lennon and Yoko at dawn || Rushed | to a scent of meadow grasses | brushing his fingers with her fingers | a hummingbird | somehow found its way into a cupboard and | died there, bashed in by its own fright and struggle | She was tipping out | the jigsaw of her past and hardly cared | to sift through the pieces, while all around | the butterflies were giving their lectures | on moments and change || The giant, Ignorance, loomed over them | and gazed | frowning | at the two lovers | stolidly | absent-mindedly | as if trying to remember | what he had lost